


Leave the Lights On

by mydickisthealpha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydickisthealpha/pseuds/mydickisthealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know that we’re a secret, and it’s one I intend on keeping until we need to,” Stiles pauses, searching Derek’s eyes. “Sometimes, Derek, I just want to leave the light on. I need to... know this is real, and I need to see you, because sometimes I wake up and you’re gone and I feel like I’ve been, like, dreaming this entire time. It’s honestly terrifying--”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave the Lights On

 

Stiles understands the need for secrecy, and he’s capable of waiting. 

There’s a whole list of reasons that Stiles and Derek have that prevent them from telling anyone about them: Stiles’ safety, the fact that Derek is years older than Stiles, that Stiles’ dad is the Sheriff, and that their friends would probably be just as weirded out as they both had been when they had found out their feelings were mutual. (Which _had_ been weird, excruciatingly confusing and exciting as hell.) 

So, yeah, Stiles can come up with twenty million different (somewhat positive) conjectures as to why Derek wants to hide this relationship from everyone. Still, it doesn’t stop him from having doubts.  

Stiles knows himself pretty well. He knows how easy it is for him to let people in, how easy it is to fall prey to someone way out of his league, and his penchant for the erroneous hope he feels when he lets himself believe he might have a chance. He knows what he looks like, all pasty pale flesh and an unattractive amount of moles littering his skin. He can trace his slightly upturned nose and push it up a bit, imitating a pig to his mirror, can brush his fingers against his chapped lips and wonder if anyone would ever want to capture them the way he wants to capture Derek’s. He wonders if maybe Derek only kisses him to shut him up, because he talks excessively and with too much volume, flailing his entire body in explanation. 

He knows he can never keep his mouth shut, especially when the situation calls for it, but that’s just him and there’s nothing he can really do about it. He’s tried before, but it never works out for him, people calling him out for it almost immediately. He’s also dangerously vulnerable, utterly human, with no hunter dad to teach him ninja moves, but a dad that’s working most of the time, and he certainly doesn’t possess any superhuman strength. He’s been in a hundred different situations where what little strength he had wasn’t enough, the only thing saving him being his quick mind and last minute desperation. 

Yeah, he’s embarrassing and not at all very attractive, but he knows he’s smart and useful. He hopes, constantly, that Derek isn’t with him just because he needs Stiles’ brain. He hopes that maybe Derek finds him endearing, even when he’s being sarcastic and snarky, shifting him limbs and tripping over himself... literally _and_ figuratively. He hopes that Derek thinks he’s just a little attractive, enough to make it real, enough so that maybe... maybe he can love Stiles the way Stiles loves Derek. 

Stiles likes to think he knows Derek, too. He knows about Kate and the lasting damage she’d _burned_ into him. He also knows that Derek doesn’t want her hanging over him anymore, doesn’t want her dictating his choices. He still feels the immense guilt that threatens to crush him every day, but he doesn’t want Kate to win, so he tries to push past it, to keep going, both for his family’s sake and his pack’s as well. He knows Derek is not good alone, that he’s brash and cold when he’s surrounded by nothing but darkness. Stiles sees that Derek tries to appear nonchalant, scary, even unfeeling at times, but Stiles also perceives that Derek truly cares whether people get hurt, whether they live or die. He tries, like Stiles, to keep his distance, but that doesn’t work for him either and somehow, similar to Scott, he’s always risking himself for others. 

So Stiles guesses a lot of things, about himself, thinks he has knowledge about Derek, but what he knows, for certain, is that he’s in love. 

It’s kind of breathtaking. Not in a ‘I’ve been in love with you since I was little and you’re safe, you’ll always say no, and a part of me knows that, so I don’t have to get so attached, not like with mom’, but a ‘if you leave me, I don’t think I’ll make it... I don’t think I’ll be able to wake up in the morning, don’t think I could drag myself out of bed or function enough to even move, and the thought of being at your funeral literally leaves me gasping for air’ kind of way. 

It’s terrifying, this feeling, leaves him ripped open and exposed, half-trembling most of the time, vibrating out of his skin. Scott is always asking him if he’s taking too many meds, so Stiles says yes and bounces his leg in place until the muscle burns and then he switches to the other leg. He bites on his nails, shoves his hands over his face, through his hair to scrub over it in frustration until the bell rings and he’s throwing an excuse over his shoulder so he can just go _home_ , where he knows Derek’s waiting. 

When he gets home, he takes the stairs two at a time and grips onto the door panel to stop himself in the doorway. Derek is sleeping, mouth slightly parted, eyebrows relaxed. The sun’s rays are filtering in on him, highlighting his cheekbones and casting shadows under them. The light curves around his buxom lips, trailing down his neck, dipping onto the expanse of his tight shirt, rolling over his muscled arms, and cutting off abruptly in shadow. 

Stiles slowly lowers his bag to the ground, slipping off his shoes. He touches the bed lightly, and then curls onto it, pressing against Derek, who only moves slightly, completely relaxed and sleeping deeply. 

Stiles wakes up to complete darkness, rubs his eyes blearily and realizes Derek’s awake beside him, seeing him just enough to know he’s sitting up.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Stiles asks, pushing himself up. 

“You’re tired,” Derek answers, but Stiles can’t see his face. “You’re always too tired.”

“It takes away from our time together, you should’ve woken me up.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, instead he leans forward, drawing Stiles into a kiss, which Stiles presses into, long fingers skipping along warm flesh to rest on Derek’s jaw, lips opening. Derek concedes, arms wrapping around Stiles’ waist, holding him close, and biting into his mouth, taking his lower lip and working at it, licking until their tongues are meshing together and they’re breathing harshly through their nostrils.

“Wait,” Stiles pulls back, eyes still closed as Derek drags him back into another kiss. “Wait, wait--” Stiles pushes Derek away a little, opening honey warm eyes so he isn’t tempted to keep tasting that sweet mouth. He shifts, leaning over Derek’s lap, stretching his arm out to flick on the light on the bedside table. 

Derek’s pupils constrict as the light fills the room, dark eyebrows furrowing. Stiles reaches out, flattening one eyebrow with his thumb, goofy smile stretching across his face. He takes in the face in front of him, jaw line distinct and covered in stubble that Stiles can rub, the sandpaper feeling familiar on his palm. He watches Derek’s pale eyes grow accustomed to the light, watches him breathe through his mouth and suddenly Stiles is frowning and sadness seeps from his pores.

“Stiles,” Derek says and Stiles stops, dropping his hand into his lap. 

“I know that we’re a secret, and it’s one I intend on keeping until we need to,” Stiles pauses, searching Derek’s eyes. “Sometimes, Derek, I just want to leave the light on. I need to... know this is real, and I need to _see_ you, because sometimes I wake up and you’re gone and I feel like I’ve been, like, dreaming this entire time. It’s honestly terrifying--”

“Stiles,” Derek says again, his eyes flashing red. 

“Derek, I’m _serious_. I want to see you. I know I’m not particularly the best to look at--”

“Stop saying that,” Derek snaps and Stiles purses his lips, looking off. “You’re attractive, Stiles.” He doesn’t elaborate, but Stiles smiles, abashed, because no one has ever really said that before. “I mean it, Stiles. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you.”

Stiles pushes himself up to Derek again, taking his face in his hands and leaning in. He kisses one eye, then the other, trails his open mouth down to bite at Derek’s jaw as his hands slide to Derek’s chest, which he realizes is still clothed. 

“Off, please,” he says between presses of his lips, and Derek obliges, pulling off his black shirt. Stiles shifts away long enough for it to come off, before they’re kissing again and Derek holds him gently. It’s almost too gentle, makes Stiles’ chest ache because here is a man whose power is a mountain, but here is a man who holds him like he’s something precious. 

“Can you, um,” Stiles stops, swallowing, “can you just lie back?” He looks up at Derek, who holds his gaze for a while, brushing his thumb across Stiles’ lips, before moving back, lying down. Stiles takes a moment to drink him in, the rise and fall of his chest, the subtle curve of muscle over his hipbone, the strain of his erection against the dark denim of his jeans... He reaches out to touch, presses his palm to the hardened member, pushing up against it until he’s got his fingers under the top of the jeans. He unbuttons them slowly, pulls the zipper down enough to relieve some of the pressure. 

He urges Derek to lift his hips, so Stiles can pull off the jeans, hooking his fingers around the waistband of Derek’s boxer-briefs so he can get rid of those too. He tosses them across the room and he hears the soft noise it makes when it touches the floor, but he doesn’t care, because the man he loves is completely naked in front of him. 

It never ceases to amaze him how truly beautiful Derek actually is. He’s all intense darkness, strength stretched under taut skin, contours and sharp chiseled features in all the right places. Stiles could just sit and watch as his muscled thighs tense and then relax, could study the curve of his long, thick penis, reddened at the tip. But he’s lost time today already, so he leans forward, mouths along Derek’s cock with kiss-swollen lips. He hears Derek’s inhale, knows his nostrils are flaring, knows his jaw is clenching, like he shouldn’t be able to enjoy this, doesn’t deserve to enjoy this. But Stiles will show him, like he’s shown him before, that he does, so much, deserve to feel good.

He slips into the v of Derek’s parted thighs, licks the bulging vein he finds on the underside of his cock, the movement familiar to him as lets his long fingers tease Derek’s thighs, brushing against his balls. He presses open mouthed kisses on Derek’s pelvis, something that makes the man below him shudder, breath stuttering into the quiet of the room. 

Stiles lets his hands wander, cold against the heat of Derek’s skin, goosebumps raising on his flesh. He trails more kisses up Derek’s thighs, the side of his cock, and then the head, ghosting his lips over it before pressing his tongue against it softly. Then he’s taking Derek into his mouth completely, filling himself up to the back of his throat, pulling back slowly, looking up. Derek lets his head fall back against the pillow as Stiles sets a rhythm, fast, fast, and slow, Derek’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, as he breathes in and out, gripping the sheets below him in a white knuckled grip. 

The weight of Derek, the taste, is familiar in a way that sends sparks of heat flaring down into the pit of Stiles’ belly, reminding him that this is something only he knows about Derek. He’s the one that’s making Derek’s chest rise and fall quickly, the one responsible for the swell of him in his mouth, the sounds of pleasure at the back of Derek’s throat. 

_I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want_ you.

Stiles pulls away quickly, sitting back on his haunches like he’s been slapped, putting a hand over his mouth. Derek’s eyes flutter open, meeting Stiles’ own in an intense gaze that knocks the breath right out of him. He crawls up Derek’s body, leaning back over to reach into the drawer beside the bed. There can be time for teasing, drawn out, measured foreplay later, but right now he needs to feel the length of Derek inside of him, needs it like a fix, his hands shaking as he coats his own fingers, pressing them into himself as he regards Derek. 

Derek’s eyes, blown out in clouded lust, trail a path down his body, watches reverently as Stiles works himself open for him. Stiles murmurs and Derek sits up, leans forward just as Stiles drops his head to rest on his shoulder, one hand scrambling up to dig into his skin as he gasps. Derek’s lips trail along Stiles’ jaw to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, scraping his teeth into the kiss, and Stiles stifles a moan, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. Derek presses his nose under his chin, the action asking Stiles to lift it and he does, easily, trusting Derek so completely. He hears the deep intake of breath, Derek taking in Stiles’ scent, and he vaguely wonders if his scent plagues Derek in his sleep like Derek’s smell does to him. 

Stiles sighs into his touches, into the tongue that laves against him carefully, until he’s ready and then he presses a hand against the searing bare flesh of Derek’s chest, pushing him to lie back. He drapes his body over Derek’s, hips urging against hips as he kisses him fiercely, dragging his hips forward until they’re settled on Derek’s abs. Their kisses are greedy and giving all at once, taking as much as they get, desperate tongues mixing together and pressing against teeth. Stiles grabs the strong hands cradling his face, places them on the outside of his thighs, and he pushes himself up with his knees on either side of Derek. 

He reaches between them, curling his hand around the base of Derek’s cock, Derek supporting him, always supporting him, and unable to take his red rimmed eyes away from him as Stiles sinks down onto him. Stiles has to close his eyes and breathe out slowly, because even though they’ve done this so many times, Derek is still a lot to adjust to, nothing compared to Stiles’ skinny fingers. Derek’s hand travels from his thighs to the indentation of his hips, putting pressure there with his thumbs, lips open as his teeth extend instinctually. He brings his hands up to Stiles’ ribs, soothing his fingers over the spaces between them, coming around the front and placing one large palm over Stiles’ rabbit-fast heart beat. Their eyes meet again, burn into each other, saying things they can’t say into the silence. 

Stiles stays seated, rolling his hips a little, palms flat against Derek’s chest. He feels the rumble of his growl, lets the sound wash over him, before he picks himself up and sinks back down, breath leaving him in a rush. He does it again, again, and Derek says his name, and he hears himself choke out a whine, clenching his muscles as he pulls up. It feels good, so good, like he’s found the only thing that can make him whole and he has it, right now, underneath him, name falling from his lips like it’s the only word he knows. It reassures Stiles, the shape of Derek’s mouth saying his name in the light, that this is real, that the look in Derek’s eyes can’t be faked. 

He works himself on Derek slowly, then quickly, then slowly again, listening to Derek’s gasps, watching his face as his eyebrows furrow and he feels claws digging into his skin. Not enough to damage him, but enough to feel the sting of it. He rotates his hips, throwing his head back, moving. Derek tugs him forward, urging his own head up to meet Stiles for a kiss, his fingers tangling in Stiles’ dark hair. Stiles leans against him, stops moving as Derek grips his ass cheeks in his hands, squeezing before he begins to fuck into Stiles from under him. 

Stiles gasps out a holy name, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes watering. He keeps himself flattened against Derek’s chest, his own cock caught in between their two bodies, friction delicious, finds his own hands digging into the outside of Derek’s biceps, blunt fingernails leaving half-moon marks. Derek’s tempo is almost brutal, rocking the entire bed with it, whispering nonsense right above Stiles’ ear. 

“Derek, _fuck_ ,” Stiles can barely say, his voice keening, closing his eyes tightly at the pressure building. That’s it, that’s all he can say, Derek’s name, a mantra, keeping him tethered to his body.

“Come,” Derek says, voice rough, and that’s all it takes and Stiles feels his toes curl, his body arch, and he’s no longer tethered, but soaring, trembling with the intensity of his release. He can feel the erratic movements of Derek inside of him, the rhythm thrown off until Derek is off the edge, too, riding it out as he makes the same desperate noise, over and over. 

They come back down slowly, flushed skin meeting everywhere, legs tangled, breathing heavily. Stiles’ heartbeat can’t seem to find the right rhythm though, sounding eerily like the heartbeat just underneath the skin he’s resting his ear against. Derek’s hand is rubbing the curve of his back. 

Stiles shifts, bringing his arms to rest, folded, on Derek’s chest, propping his head up on his chin to smile softly at Derek. Derek smiles back, something that makes warmth spread in Stiles’ chest, because he doesn’t smile for anyone else. 

“I’m in love with you,” he says, not even thinking. He doesn’t back down, though, even as the smile slips from Derek’s face and his eyes widen. “I’m in love with you,” he repeats, firmly and Derek is silent, but he looks vulnerable in a way Stiles has never seen before. 

“Your heart didn’t-- You shouldn’t.”

“ _You_ think I shouldn’t. I don’t care,” Stiles says. “Look, Derek, you don’t have to say it back or anything, I just want you to know. That I do. I love you--”

“I would be proud to let everyone know we’re together,” Derek says suddenly, cutting him off. Stiles frowns, then tries to process the sentence in his head, but Derek continues, “I want to keep my scent on you, to pull you into my arms whenever I want, to do stupid things with you with everyone looking. I want to meet your father, properly, and I want to be able to pick you up from school and take you to get curly fries. I want to be able to come over on the anniversary of your mother’s death and I want you to be able to come over on the anniversary of my family’s, because you make it feel like the world isn’t swallowing me whole. I want everyone to know that I love you, because I’ve never had something that honest before and I’m tired of hiding it.”

Stiles looks away, stupid tears in his eyes, because fuck if that isn’t everything that he wants, too. 

“Not yet, though,” Derek says softly, softer than he's ever been, grasping Stiles’ chin so they’re looking at each other. “Not yet, no one is ready for that yet.”

Stiles nods, scoots forward to kiss Derek and give him a smile as the man’s arms wrap around him, because he understands the need for secrecy and he can wait.


End file.
